


Nighttime Photography

by Arvak



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: And Derek is really fucking adorable, Happy Ending, Idiots in Love, Lydia solves all of their problems, M/M, Miscommunication, One-Shot, Peter has good intentions, Peter wants Stiles to take the bite, Stiles is disturbed, Still not very good at tags, but incredibly turned on, just a very bad way of going about them, oh also there's mutant groundhogs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:08:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22133800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arvak/pseuds/Arvak
Summary: "You can'tpossiblybe serious." Stiles stomped up to the wall and tore down the picture hanging on its own in the darkness. He stared at it, then turned and shook it in Derek's face. "This isnotokay!"Derek took the picture from Stiles' fingers like he expected it to suddenly turn animate and attack him. He tilted his head at it. And he stared. For a long time. His pale green eyes rose and met Stiles', flat and expressionless. "I don't understand.""Look at it!" Derek blinked back down at the picture and his brows twitched. "Derek, your stupid fucking undead uncle is creeping into my room and taking pictures of me while I'm sleeping. Don't-Don't fucking grin like that!In Derek-Speak that's like laughing your fucking ass off at me!" Stiles gritted his teeth as Derek ducked his head as if that would prevent Stiles from seeing the terribly amused slight uptick in his lips. "Fix this, or I will unload all of my knowledge of magic and wards and shit on himmyself. I donotconsent to being photographed while I'msleeping!"Except, he absolutely does.
Relationships: Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 10
Kudos: 470





	Nighttime Photography

It's been a long day. School sucked, lacrosse sucked, and so do his friends, even the weather; all of the circumstances that have led up to now just _sucked._ There's an army of mutant groundhogs terrorizing the local joggers in the preserve. Also, a fucking deer with _wings_ was recently spotted sneaking around the picnic tables near the campsite foraging for food. Man, it was a task trying to convince those over-imaginative psychos that what they saw wasn't a deer with bird-wings but rather a completely normal deer tangled in a mess of plastic due to the unfortunate reality that is pollution (he ended up starting a petition on accident... apparently it already has over 100 signatures, last he heard. Also, the old man that had seen the deer texted him at 2 in the morning with a random, " _you ever had shrooms boy?_ ")

And just to tie the bow on the shit-stack that is today...

Peter Fucking Hale.

"You can't _possibly_ be serious." Stiles had just gotten home, Derek in tow (because that deer was going to cause some serious trouble. He could just see the havoc if it decided to take flight over town. People would cry _dragon,_ or some random hunter - the normal kind - would shoot it down and then everything would be fucked). They were geared up to research hard and then sleep even harder. But he froze in his path to his desk when he saw the lone picture hanging on his wall. He walked up to it and his mouth dropped open. He tore it down and stared at it, then turned and shook it in Derek's face, flustered and red-cheeked. "This is _not_ okay!"

Derek took the picture from Stiles' fingers like he expected it to suddenly turn animate and attack him. He tilted his head at it. And he stared. For a long time. His pale green eyes rose and met Stiles', flat and expressionless. "I don't understand." The picture, held lightly between Derek's fingers, was somehow so much more than just a picture. That piece of printed paper was undoubtedly the most outrageous thing in the world.

"Look at it!" Stiles flailed a hand at the _evidence_ and then tucked both flailing hands under his arms to avoid any possible hazards. Derek blinked back down at the picture and his brows twitched. "Derek, your stupid fucking undead uncle is creeping into my room and taking pictures of me while I'm sleeping." Derek's face stayed blank for a moment longer, then his carefully controlled expression of indifference broke and his lips tightened, curled up at the side while his eyes crinkled at the edges.

Stiles wanted to punch him. "Don't- _Don't fucking grin like that!_ In Derek-Speak that's like laughing your fucking ass off at me!" Stiles gritted his teeth as Derek ducked his head as if that would prevent Stiles from seeing the terribly amused slight uptick in his lips. "Fix this, or I will unload all of my knowledge of magic and wards and shit on him _myself_." He snatched the photo from Derek's fingers and stomped over to his desk, yanking open a drawer and shoving the offensive piece of evidence of him being _stalked_ into it, probably more forcefully than necessary, then slammed the door shut.

He turned to Derek and jabbed a finger in the air at him. "I do _not_ consent to being photographed while I'm _sleeping!_ "

"This is _not_ my problem," Derek said sternly, but with a tight smile of bone-deep amusement on his lips.

"This _is!!_ He's _your_ uncle!!"

"He's _your_ stalker." Stiles' mouth fell open for the second time that night and Derek ducked his head again, lips finally pulling over his teeth in a full-on smile. A _real-person_ smile. His hand went to his hair and he ran his fingers through it before scratching at his jaw like he was embarrassed. Well he better damn well be embarrassed. Stiles is fucking _mortified._

After the necessary research was over, having learned that the winged deer was called a peryton before ending up on a majestic roller coaster ride that pitched them right down the rabbit hole of purely mystical creatures like dragons and pegasuses and unicorns and shit (he and Sourwolf were _engrossed_ ), Stiles said goodbye to Derek and then fell into bed. It was a long-awaited feat and he took a deep sigh of relief. Finally, he was alone and he could _relax._

He finally fell asleep and it was amazing.

Until he woke up to the sound of a camera shutter clicking and a bright flash of light. He opened his heavy eyelids and pulled his sleepy mind out of the depths of unconsciousness and squinted accusingly at the figure stood at the foot of his bed. He recognized Peter's silhouette and threw the covers off of himself when the asshole turned for the window.

"Peter!" he snapped through a sleep-graveled voice, scrambling to his feet and slip-sliding across the room towards the creepy stalker (soft socks and wood floors do not get along well). He lurched forward to grab Peter's jacket and his feet flew out from under him with all the grace of a newborn gazelle on crack. He let out a strangled yelp and he's sure the look on his face was nothing short of comical.

Peter turned and grabbed him by the arm, saving him from an embarrassing fall and a very sore ass and held him up to allow him to get his feet back on the ground, grumbling, "Moron," under his breath. When he was steady, Peter let go of him. Stiles did not.

"Peter, this is _not_ okay!!" Stiles said, strained, desperate to get the dick to stop and listen for just a minute. Not only is this a drastic step over the line of _inappropriate_ and _concerning_ , it was also only a matter of time before his dad caught on to the fact that Peter Hale was visiting his son in the late hours of the night and that was just a certain breed of complicated that Stiles was not ready for. The "werewolves and banshees and spirits _oh my!"_ talk was difficult enough to give to him, and it was even more distressing to receive the typical "birds and the bees" talk. He doesn't need the _"I'm the sheriff and I own a gun"_ talk too... He's saving that one for when he tries to get married.

Peter let out a quick chuckle and then suddenly he stepped forward. His arm wrapped around Stiles' front and sudden, unnatural brute force was what caused his feet to leave the ground as he was propelled through the air to land with a bounce on his bed on the other side of the room. He scrambled back up as fast as he could but Peter was already out of the window and dropping off of his roof.

" _Peter_ ," he hollered, digging his fingers into the window sill and watching him run off into the night like the creeper he is. "I know you're _completely_ psycho insane, but this is an _entirely new level of creepy!!_ "

Stiles knew this was becoming a problem. To count, this is the fourth time Peter has done this in the space of three months. Stiles has three pictures and now this one - the one Peter just took of him tonight; yet to be pinned on his wall for him to find. He doesn't understand the reasoning behind taking pictures of him while he's sleeping and hanging the evidence in plain sight.

Even when he found the first photo, there was no wondering who had done it. On the back, Peter had signed it, _PH_. Peter does weird things. But usually it follows a theme of murderous, manipulative and borderline obsessive. This? This is just _weird._ Stiles doesn't understand weird.

He needed help.

The next day (after checking the wall and finding it void of the photo so far), Stiles went to the only person brilliant enough to decode his troubles, and discrete enough not to blabber about it to everyone who wanted something to tease him about.

"Stiles, it's my beauty day. What the _hell_ do you want."

Stiles blinked at Lydia and a pleased smile fit on his face. "You always wanted to meddle with my love-life..." _An offering... Her eyes narrow, and Stiles knows he's captured his prey when she hums and tosses her hair over her shoulder. The hunt is on!_

He and Lydia sat down in her room on her bed and Stiles showed her the three photos he had. Each one taken with a flash in his dark room. The first one had been taken on a cold night so Stiles was dressed in his warmest, fuzziest pants and a long sleeve shirt, curled up under a massive heap of blankets. That was the one that Peter signed.

The next one showed Stiles strewn about on his stomach, arms stretched out and legs spread wide, one hanging off the edge of the bed, the sheets tangled around him. It had been a long night of fighting off whatever creature had decided to wreak havoc so yeah, he was sweaty and hot and exhausted and didn't sleep well, hence the evidence of tossing and turning. That one didn't have anything written on it.

The last one was the one he and Derek found just the other day. It had been the night after a lovely lazy day of peace. He had on shorts and a t-shirt and was layed on his side with one arm under his pillow, the other hand dangling off the bed. He had slept well that night so the blankets were still mostly undisturbed and up to his waist. Nothing was written on that one either.

"Each one was pinned up on my wall." Stiles told Lydia. "Like trophies, maybe. Or maybe a message?" Lydia picked them up and looked at them, then the backs, eyes lingering on Peter's initials on the first one. "But what the hell kind of message would he be trying to tell me?"

Lydia, after a long moment, sighed and set them down, looking up at him with exasperated brows. "Peter operates within his own complicated set of rules that keep him untouchable and all-powerful while unconsciously expressing and working through his deep-set vulnerability." Stiles blinked at her. And then some more, while his mind tried to catch up to hers. He never knew she could pick people apart so extensively like that. "It's very possible that he's trying to express to you that he admires you without giving any illusion that he's anything other than the enigmatic manipulative asshole that everyone thinks he is."

He blinked some more and Lydia's expression became even more exasperated.

"He has a crush on you, Stiles," she finished bluntly.

"What? Really?" Stiles didn't know how to feel about that. Should be feel honored? Flattered? Unbelievably attractive Peter Hale has a crush on him? No, no way. Unbelievably attractive psychopathic 30-something year old Peter Hale likes powerless 18 year old him? He frowned and couldn't help it - he was suspicious and disbelieving of the creeper, as should any sane person. "Ew, _really?_ "

Lydia's brows rose so perfectly that Stiles wondered if she was getting lessons from Derek. " _'Ew'?_ " she asked incredulously.

Stiles pressed his lips together and shrugged. "Yeah. 'Ew'..." Though she was giving him this look like he was the biggest idiot to ever walk the Earth. "Right?"

"No. You and I know very well that you do not think Peter is unattractive in _any_ way."

Stiles blushed and looked away. She's known he was predominately gay ever since he confessed to her that the reason his crush on her was so deep was because she was the _only_ girl he was attracted to, so it wasn't a surprise that she put the pieces together. And most people who are attracted to guys will obviously find Peter Hale to be sex on legs. But it's _Peter_. "Well, I mean the psychopathic tendencies are a little unattractive-"

"Bullshit." Stiles blinked at her. "Why are you attracted to me, Stiles? It's not just because I'm pretty. It's because I'm brilliant, abrasive, manipulative, unattainable, and disliking of everyone around me."

"So, you know you're literally saying you and Peter are _similar,_ " Stiles pointed out, though his mind was still circling around her insinuation, realizing that, yes, she was right. Obviously. She was always right.

"Yes, we are. I think the only reason you're not absolutely head over heels for Derek yet is simply because he's no smarter or more manipulative than Scott is."

Stiles opened his mouth, about to protest that he did in fact like Derek a lot - Derek was attractive and grumpy and a little fucked up and plenty unattainable, but he realized he'd only be admitting something he didn't necessarily want to admit on his own free will, and he'd also just be proving her point further. _Derek_ wasn't cunning - he was brute and reckless. Stiles didn't necessarily fit in well enough with that personality. Still... He's pretty hot regardless.

"Okay," Stiles mumbled. "So I like Peter..." (Though he had never really thought about it that much because the fact that he was a manipulative murderer worked wonders to keep his mind from straying too far towards anything past physical attraction) "But do you really think Peter likes _me?_ "

"Yeah," Lydia scoffed like it was obvious. "You're the only one he likes, other than me, and he only bothers with Derek because he's obligated to." Lydia leaned back against her pillows and crossed her legs, leveling Stiles with a _look_. "He bothers with Derek because, as the only remaining member of his family, he knows Derek is the only one in the world who would help him in a time of need. He bothers with me because I can see past his shit, and deep down he knows he needs to keep me at arms reach in case I decide to turn on him... But he doesn't just _bother_ with you - he _likes_ you, because he knows you're the only one who _wouldn't_ turn on him."

Stiles opened his mouth to protest, but she kicked him and he stayed silent.

"He likes you. It's plain as day. He may less-reluctantly spend his time with you as well as Derek and I, but you are the _only_ person he intentionally seeks out." She held the pictures up and gestured with them. "I'll admit, I don't exactly know why _this_ is the way he's deciding to show it, but the subtext is still the same."

"He's taking pictures of me while I'm sleeping, Lydia," Stiles said sternly. Lydia let her hand fall back to her lap and she kept her mouth shut, waiting to hear what he had to say. "He's crawling through my window and taking pictures of me... That's not sane... That's not how you show your admiration for people."

Lydia's lips pressed together and she tilted her head the slightest bit, looking off in the distance as her fingers came up to twirl a lock of hair.

"I mean," Stiles continued, staring down at the palms of his hands as he scratched at a few scabs. "I know Peter's not _stable_ or anything, but... But he always has reasons for doing things. I just don't think-- If he had a reason to show me he admired me, I don't think _this_ would be the way he would do it."

Lydia looked back down at the photos and frowned. "Yeah," she mumbled. Her lips slanted and she handed the photos back to him. "Well, I guess if that's the case you'll just have to wait it out and see what comes of it."

Stiles rolled his eyes. "Gee, you're so helpful."

When he woke up the next morning, the photo was pinned to his wall. Beautifully scrawled in perfect handwriting on the back was,

\- _My reasoning for this is to show you that it should alarm you how easy it is to catch you unarmed -_

"He was listening to us," he said to Lydia, shoving the back of the photo in her face. She huffed and snatched the photo from him and pulled him inside, maybe annoyed that it was 7 in the morning and he was at her door practically shouting at her. Maybe. "He was on your roof, _listening_ to us! He used the same words - _my reasoning-_ Oh, what a piece of- He's- I'm gonna kill him. I'm gonna strangle him with is own wolfy fucking tail!"

"You're going to start paying me for this," she grumbled as she tried to keep up with him. He practically sprinted to her room, hopped up on nerves and driven by curiosity.

"Like, why?! What does he expect me to do about it?" He opened the window and stuck his head out, seeing no sign of the creeperwolf, then threw himself down on her bed and stared at her helplessly as she walked in, eyes on the photo on her hands. "It should alarm me how easy it is to catch me unarmed? What am I supposed to do about it? Keep a pistol under my pillow? Set up a motion-sensor-machine-gun to shoot at all of the fucking werewolves that creep through my window? HA! THAT at least will take care of a _few_ of my problems!"

Finally, she sighed, rolled her eyes, and grabbed her phone. "I'll do something about it." He pushed himself up and watched her type away on her phone.

"What are you doing?"

"Telling Peter to nut up and come talk to you in person."

"WHAT?!?!" Stiles jumped up and lunged for the phone, but only got a kick to the shin that send him to the ground in a whining heap of mess. "Lydia! You're _evil! EVIL!_ "

"Oh, quit whining." She continued typing and sat down on the edge of her bed, crossing her legs casually. "You gave me permission to meddle in your love life. So that's exactly what I plan to do."

"Lydia Martin, I don't like you anymore," he grumbled into her soft fluffy carpet. He let it happen, though. Closed his eyes and let it ride out. It's the only way he's gotten through all of this shit.

There's still six-legged groundhogs raiding picnic baskets and biting poor hikers and picnic-ers and also late-night-quickie-ers on the ankles (or their other bits, depending on their, um... positions... Melissa probably had a fun time with those ones...)

Stiles grumbled at Lydia about her blatant betrayal and she dismissively replied to each complaint. Then, she sighed out of the blue and left the room. Stiles stared at the still-open door, empty of her, and was just about to get up to follow her when he heard her say from down the hall, "You're in charge of _any_ damages," then heard Peter rumble back something he couldn't quite catch.

A quick silence, then Peter was walking through the door and shutting it behind him, staring down at Stiles.

He was dressed too well, Stiles thought. He looked like sex on legs with those tight, low-rise jeans and soft v-neck which hung perfectly, and it wasn't fair. It really wasn't fair at all.

It was at that point he realized, _that's what the fucker always wears._ He wondered why all of a sudden he looked so impossibly perfect. He slowly picked himself up from the floor, rising to his knees, and Peter stepped close. Stiles couldn't tell if his heart wanted to stop in anticipation or race in excitement. He's pretty sure if a heart-ologist or whatever tracked his BPM right now, they'd have him on a gurney in a second. That's what Peter fucking Hale did to him.

Stiles was, in his current position, at eye-level with Peter's crotch. Mouth-level. He could reach out and set his hands on Peter's thighs, press his chest against him and mouth at his stomach.

It's like the prick planned this.

Fuck, he probably did.

"Stiles," Peter said, cocking his head down at the boy. Stiles' eyes rose from his legs, crotch and torso to meet his chilly Arctic blue eyes. They were so blue. Holy shit, they were practically a portal to a winter reality full of snow and icebergs and chill winds that could rattle him to the bone. "You're only proving my point."

"Point?" Stiles croaked, swallowing.

In reply, Peter reached down and firmly gripped his chin with a forefinger and thumb, pulling him up to his feet, nearly identical to how he had pulled him to his feet on the field, Lydia lying between them bloody and hurt. Except this time it was a lot less horrifying, and so, so hot. Because he knew, now, that Peter was doing this for him. Only him. He was the only witness - no ulterior motives, no lies. Just him. Because he liked him. He was doing this because he liked him.

"My point, dear thing," Peter purred, his fingers lightly trailing down his neck, to his chest...

Then suddenly he flattened his palm against his sternum and pushed hard. Stiles fell back onto Lydia's bed and scrambled to get his elbows under him to look down. Peter was now in between his legs, leaning over him with his hands on the bed beside his hips. Stiles could hook his legs over his waist and pull him down closer... He could.

"My point is that you are too vulnerable."

Stiles stared up at him, into those winter eyes. "What the hell do you want me to do about it?" he asked sternly. That was the question he wanted answered.

Peter tilted his head, leaned down closer just the tiniest bit, and said, softly, "Take the bite."

Stiles' mouth fell parted when the wolfman's soft hand came up to touch his cheek.

"It will make you stronger," Peter continued, voice still soft and quiet. As gentle as the fingers on his face, now tracing so sweetly down his neck again. "You'll be able to heal when you get hurt." He was getting closer. His groin pressed against Stiles' own when he rested more of his weight against him, and Stiles' thighs tightened against his waist. His fingers gripped the bed sheets so he couldn't reach up. "You'll be able to keep up in a fight." Looking into those eyes, he swore he saw the color move much like the winds of the Arctic. Little flecks of blue and white, lava-ice, creating this cavernous black hole amidst the captivating glaciers.

He closed his eyes. He couldn't take it.

He could feel Peter's breath fanning on his cheek and he didn't dare move. "We won't have to worry about you getting captured or hurt or killed - because, love, you are so very important to us..." His fingers came back up his chin, and traced his lips. They fell open pliantly. "To me..."

"To you?" Stiles repeated, hardly comprehensive.

"Take the bite," Peter repeated, lips so close Stiles could feel their heat against his own. The older man's thumb pulled lightly on his bottom lip and he felt Peter's stomach press against his own, engulfing him in his heat. He finally let go of the blankets and reached out to touch, resting his fingers on his hard sides.

Then, Peter said the last word Stiles ever expected him to say - the only word in any and all languages Peter had once sworn never to speak, lest he be wrung up by the neck and cut in half. Peter Hale said to him, under a whisper and even a soft whine, his lips touching Stiles' enough he could _feel_ the word being spoken, " _Please_."

Then, he was gone.

Stiles felt cold in the absence of his heat, like an arctic wind had followed him, leaving Stiles frozen in his wake.

Stiles blinked up at the ceiling, legs still spread and pants feeling way too tight, and reached a hand up into his hair.

He breathed.

And he grinned.

\--

_-What do you say to a night in the woods  
_

_-There's a spot you'll like_

_**-Yeah, sure, aftr teh monster groundhogs r dealt with maybe. I like my balls right where they r.** _

_**-Hey, Lyds said u like me...** _

_**-Like how accurate is she??** _

_-I might show you in detail how accurate she is, if you stop using "r" and "u" and communicate like an intelligent member of society_

**_-Oh my god ur such a dramawolf_ **

**_-YOU ARE_ **

**_-Peter?_ **

**_-Peter?? :(_ **

_-Preserve, 10:00_

**_-God yes okay. but if I get my dick bitten off I will be very very upset_ **

_-Don't worry, your dick will be in VERY good hands_

_**-Creeperwolf!** _

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Leave a comment if you'd like. They make my world go 'round. :)


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